I'm SO sorry
by Prayer Machine
Summary: But what for?


When does a person become damaged beyond redemption?

She was a scientist. She knew when the physical body began to degrade, and all the processes involved with decaying tissue and failing organs. She could speak at length at what infections they could bring to the body. How she had seen cells massacred. How she had seen rats... and people, massacred.

She was not affectionate, as a person. She was cold. Cold as this rock that bound her, cold like the lifestream that pooled and bubbled and

_raged_

near her. When the sun had come to warm her, she had turned away from it, and flung herself into the shadows. Even when he returned, time and time again -

_what did he want?_

- she could not reach for him. He could not touch her, so far down the well had she fallen.

She had seen hearts decaying, too.

The brain was a fascinating part of the body. One she and Shinra did not fully understand yet, even. They knew how to download memories though - knew how to create shells and fragments and traces of people, and knew how to purge them too. She'd seen brains die. Seen them bleed. Shrink. Wither. She'd held brains, too. Eventually they stopped being special, eventually she forgot how to feel horrified.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

Was she really?

She had done those things. She had damaged herself. She'd let them fill her up with toxins for that

_sick experiment_

she'd willingly been a part of, and when she had pushed and pushed and given life to this world they tried to throw her away like a lab rat when it's job is done. When it's

_purpose_

is done. Yet she couldn't die, her body wouldn't let her die, wouldn't let her go. She still had purpose.

Purpose... was no comfort.

Was it atonement?

_I'm SORRY, I'm SO SORRY_

. Did she exist just to say those words over and over again, when her throat was dry and her mind felt like it was drowning in as all those tears she'd stopped from spilling? When, then, would she be able to let go?

She didn't deserve... to let go. She didn't deserve atonement, or meaning, or purpose. She supposed, then, she didn't deserve to die. She was a scientist. She did not believe in heaven. She believed in rot. In recycling. The planet would take her and give her breath anew, but what right did she have to inflict herself on the world again? Too many mistakes had been made.. Too many.

Her husband.

Her lover.

Two extremes that never walked together in harmony. Was it selfish of her to spend her time thinking of them both? Dark haired men, handsome men, gentle in the bedroom - both of them. One of logic and the other of heart. She loved them both, at the time - as strange and as foolish as it perhaps had seemed. Yet one had never meant to hurt her, and the other would bring all the hurt in the world.

She had seen wombs decay.

Babies. Bright and cheery. Young and helpless. She'd never known her own by anything other than by name. She knew his eyes, his name, but never how he felt. Never how he breathed. Never how he yawned or cried. Her angel had been ripped from her, and she had prayed for him every day. Yet more time was spent on thoughts of love and the failings of it all. She'd... almost forgotten.

He's dead now.

He had the solace she did not deserve.

Palms, her nails touched her palms. She knew all about nails, like her teeth and like her hair. She knew all about skin and mites and cells and dna and and and... it was all so useless. Meaningless scriptures, stories she'd told herself that made no sense now. She wished she'd known philosophy to comfort her, some sage to tell her that things would be alright.

Things would

_never_

be alright.

She lashed out, frustration help her - expecting to bang against that crystal wall... but instead, she tumbled out.

The earth had never felt so good. It would not support her for long, nothing ever did, but as she scraped that mud with her nails she had never felt something so

_real_

. Like babies skin.

Like babies skin.

A moan escaped her.

She began... to stand.

He was dead, yes, but he had lived a life.

What had they done to her son? Where had he gone? Was he treated badly, did he ever know her name? She... she needed knowledge now.

Knowledge was what had made her, what had destroyed her - and yet it would be the only thing to stay with her after all this time.

When was a person... beyond repair? Jenova cells could fix everything, couldn't they? She touched her belly. What was redemption, anymore, anyway?

**"Sephiroth..."**

she whispered to no one but the air.

**"I'm so sorry."**

For what?

For him. For his being. For his existence.

She decided... that she would like to touch his grave.

The waterfall beckoned, and she slipped away with it.


End file.
